Atlas
by IronBell
Summary: It is spring, and neither of them can seem to find the right words to give each other. But storms have a way of keeping people together in the dark. [Two-shot]


_I was a heavy heart to carry,_

_But he never let me down._

* * *

There are very few instances in his life in which Makoto can remember feeling jealous. It doesn't suit him, he decides, sitting beneath the overhang outside of school as the rain pours down. His mouth still tastes like copper from biting the inside of his mouth. The blood had surprised him into moving, walking quickly down the hall and to the benches where he could wait for Haru.

Haru. Right.

When the two boys had heard someone running behind them, neither had been expecting for the voice to call out Haru's name. No one called Haru's name except for teachers and his close friends – no one ever had a reason to. But there she was, a third-year with tumbling auburn curls and dimples that were deep as craters. Makoto recognized her from his Calculus class, and he watched as she approached his best friend, clutching her hands together in – nervousness?

Well, _shit. _Of all the things he had expected on a Tuesday afternoon, this wasn't it. There was a beat of awkward silence between the three until the girl – what was her name? – shifted her eyes up to Makoto and what he saw in them made him clench up, all of his muscles locking defensively.

Without words, she was telling him to get out, that he didn't belong there. And maybe Makoto was reading too much into it, as Makoto normally did, but the first thing that skittered across his mind was blank panic at the notion of being replaced. Haru had never had anyone interested in him before, except for Makoto. It had always been _him, _not some nameless girl with her dimples and soft mouth and tiny body.

A crack of thunder nearly split the sky, and Makoto winced out of the blank state he had slid into. The last ten minutes had been like a back-hand to the face, a not-so-subtle reminder that Haru was single and attractive, eccentric but a good person. Certainly not his. How many times had he rehearsed telling his best friend about his feelings? There were so many ways it could be done, yet Makoto hadn't even begun to narrow down his choices.

And he never would. He knew Haru more than anyone, and while Makoto was important in Haru's life, there was a part of him that whispered, _"You're not enough." _And that was Makoto's problem. Ever since they were children, he had been both too much and not enough, embodying both so well that it was a wonder he didn't combust. He had the overbearing tendency of a mother but no back bone to enforce his commands; he was too attached to Haru while the other boy would be satisfied to be alone 24/7.

These are the things Makoto wished he could have remained unaware of his entire life.

Had he no fear of the consequences, he would have confronted Haru as soon as he came out of the school, but he knew that it was a lost cause when the boy pushed through the doors and walked over to him. Makoto felt a smile sliding onto his face, more out of habit than anything, and he asked, "So how'd it go?"

"It didn't," Haru replied, shouldering his backpack. Makoto studied his face for any trace of excitement, but there was none. He opened up the same old blue umbrella that they always walked under together and held it up above Haru's head as they left the safety of the overhang. Water poured off the umbrella's slants in sheets, and Makoto could feel a cold wetness begin to crawl up the hem of his pants.

"So she was there to confess, huh?" Makoto pressed gently, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the rain. Haru was looking down, watching the water as it flicked off of his shoes with each step.

"Yeah," he said.

"She's cute."

That captured his attention. Blue eyes flickered up at Makoto before quickly moving away.

"I guess," Haru said, voice flat as always. There was a beat of silence before he continued, "I don't know her."

"I think that's the point of dating. You're supposed to get to know-"

"Too much effort," Haru cut him off, and Makoto could hear the resolve in his voice. It made him laugh a little breathless laugh, relief clogging his throat so thickly that he could barely force it out.

"Just like you, Haru-chan," Makoto said, smiling, and the boy made a noncommittal noise in response that somehow implied 'don't add –chan' and 'it's true', all at once.

When they stopped at Haru's house, Makoto was invited in to dry off, but he politely declined.

"I've got to watch Ren and Ran today. We should do something tomorrow after practice, though," Makoto suggested, even though Haru's invitation had only been for him to dry off, not necessarily hang out (these are the distinctions that keep Makoto's mouth sealed anytime he thinks he might have half the heart to confess).

"Sure," Haru agreed, and Makoto smiled before he turned on his heel, ducking back under the umbrella. He called goodbye as he tapped down the stone pathway, almost feeling better but not quite. Haru may have said no this time, but there was no guarantee for the next girl, or the next. He would say yes eventually, wouldn't he?

Makoto let his smile drop as he put distance between himself and Haru, and he wondered if he would be this cowardly forever. Yes, Haru loved him, that he knew. But he loved him in the way that friends are supposed to. Haru didn't love Makoto the way Makoto loved Haru.

But in the end, it wouldn't change a thing. Makoto would continue being there for Haru because he cared for him with such a force that it often left him speechless, choking on his own words as they all backed up in his throat from tamped down for so long.

_I love you, I love you, I love –_

* * *

A crisp spring wind blew through the area, and Haru felt the hair on his bare arms rise up in defense. He padded over to Gou, who was distributing towels happily to all of the boys, congratulating them on their times. Nearly every practice, Nagisa had wailed about how times didn't even _matter_ anymore since Makoto and Haru were graduating within the coming year, leaving the current second-years behind (despite the fact that there was still a numerous stretch of months before that occurred). But Makoto, good-natured as he was, always reassured him that they would both come and swim with the two, would even come to their races to watch them compete. This often consoled the blonde enough until he began panicking about finding two new members, which not even Makoto had an answer for.

It seemed to Haru that the most likely outcome would be that the swim club would die out after they left, but he hoped beyond hope that the pool would still be accessible. Alumni privileges, or something like that.

"Hey, Haru," Makoto called to him as he was heading to the locker room, "The twins are at a friend's house today. You want to come over to my place instead?"

"Yeah," he answered immediately. He preferred Makoto's house much more than his own. Not that his house wasn't nice, but Makoto's felt like _home_, probably just because the boy himself inhabited it.

"Ah, no fair!" Nagisa whined, shaking out his wet hair. "I want to hang out at Mako-chan's house!"

"I thought you were coming home with me today to study," Rei interjected, pushing up his glasses. He looked a little put-out when Nagisa wrinkled his nose and keened, "_Ew."_

"Studying is important, you know. Didn't you struggle with the last exam?" Makoto asked, smiling that gentle smile that assured Nagisa that he meant no harm. Haru wished being personable came as easily to him as it did Makoto, but he figured if his friend was around, it wasn't a quality he needed. Their feet slapped noisily on the tile floor, each scattering to their individual lockers.

He listened to Rei and Nagisa squabble, Makoto interfering when he could, sounding more and more like a referee. By the time he was fully dressed, Makoto was still in his jammers, hair half-dry as he held his face in his hands. Nagisa had Rei in a headlock, dragging him in circles while the blue-haired boy scrabbled his legs, trying to pull away.

Makoto glanced at him between his fingers and shook his head the tiniest bit, and Haru shrugged in response, silently telling him to let the two alone. His friend turned away, cracking his locker open and taking out his clothes to set on the top.

Haru leaned back against the metal and tried to politely look away as Makoto stripped off the jammers, but he couldn't help but flicker his gaze down to look at the bare form in front of him. He saw Makoto naked all of the time, though there was an unspoken agreement between the four of them that while it wasn't a big deal, you shouldn't pointedly stare at each other's naked bodies either.

And Haru tried to respect that, he really did, but he couldn't help but snatch glances at Makoto whenever he could. With Rei and Nagisa causing a ruckus between the two of them, wholly distracted, and Makoto's back turned, Haru took the chance to study the boy from heel-up.

For the longest time, Haru had a tiny worry nagging at the back of his mind that insisted he was malfunctioned. He had never found anyone attractive, not even during the on-set of puberty, when hormones were supposed to go haywire. Of course, he had to live through the hell of random erections and voice changes mid-sentence, but other than that – nothing. No urges to browse porn, no want to touch girls (or boys, for that matter), no fantasies. All he needed was water to swim in, mackerel to eat at meals, and to see Makoto's face daily.

Who knew when it changed? Maybe it was after the night Makoto had almost drowned, but that didn't feel right. It just seemed that one day Haru began noticing the arch of Makoto's back as he dove into the water, noticed the curve of his neck and the way the veins in his arms swelled when he was working outside in the garden.

Needless to say, after Haru had a wet dream in which Makoto played the starring role, he downright panicked. For days, he had avoided Makoto, ducking away from him and barely responding to what he said. The two had orbited each other in a manic frenzy but for their own wildly different reasons. Haru because he knew something was changing inside of him and detested it; Makoto because he could physically see his best friend shying away from him and was horrified by it.

Haru didn't take change well, never had, but then Makoto had shown up at his house after two weeks of alarmed confusion. The hurt had been evident in his voice, and he knew it was time to pull his shit together for the other's sake. While he had always loved Makoto in the way that a best friend would, something inside of him had flipped the switch and changed it to _in _love. And so Haru did what he did best – he handled it in the form of stubbornness. If only he could ignore this little problem, this _quirk, _then everything would stay the same. But as he was quickly figuring out, a secret of this measure bit like acid, and it was wearing him thin. Makoto needed to know.

But how could he bring something like that up in conversation? He couldn't. Haru was good at a lot of things, but expressing himself verbally wasn't one of them. That, and while he had acknowledged the new feelings for his friend, he was stricken with the fear that they would ruin _everything. _Makoto was a constant in his life, and Haru wasn't at all prepared for the day when that would change. It had to be approaching, though; they were graduating, moving onto university, into adulthood. If he lost Makoto, he was certain if would fracture him.

So this is what he was reduced to. Staring subtly at his best friend, biting the inside of his cheek to squash any facial expression that might try to show itself. His eyes raked up the hard calves, the slight swoop outwards of his thighs, the round ass that was a couple of shades lighter than his torso. His back, his fucking _back. _Haru recalled his history teacher presenting slides of Grecian artwork a few weeks before, stopping briefly on one that depicted a man straining beneath the weight of the Earth as it rested on his shoulders. The titan, Atlas – that was the kind of back Makoto had, broad as the horizon with muscles that bunched and coiled like a living thing beneath the tan skin.

Haru was extremely aware of how dry his mouth was when Makoto slipped his shirt on, obstructing the view, and Rei screamed particularly loudly as Nagisa accidently yanked on his hair. There was a barrage of yelling, most of the cries coming from Nagisa as he apologized, the others from Makoto as he scolded the younger boy.

Air. Haru needed air. He snatched up his backpack, retreating quickly to distance himself from the noise. When he emerged outside, he realized just how hot his cheeks were as the wind hit him straight on. Standing there for a moment, still, a thought occurred to him that made his stomach twist.

It was time. He couldn't keep the silence up, especially not after the other day. Having some girl he didn't even know confess her feelings to him had dredged up a reaction of what was almost comparable to disgust. He had probably seemed extremely rude as he had backed away from her, but he didn't want to hear it. There had been nothing wrong with her, not logically, and this he knew. But just the idea of anyone confessing to him was near revolting – unless it was Makoto.

Makoto was the only one he wanted in that way. The only one he would ever want in that way.

"Haru!" A familiar voice made him turn, and he saw Makoto emerge from inside, Rei and Nagisa close behind. The boy smiled and said, "Not going to leave without me, were you?"

"No," Haru replied, thinking, _never. _

* * *

The sky was rapidly darkening as the two arrived at Makoto's house, threatening another downpour. Makoto sighed as he toed off his shoes, saying, "It looks like another storm is heading our way. All the thunder and lightning makes me anxious."

"It won't be so bad," Haru said, blasé as always, and it makes Makoto smile.

"At least I've got you here with me," he said, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on a peg in the hallway. He took Haru's as the boy walked past, heading for the kitchen.

"There're ice pops in the freezer!" Makoto called, hoping his friend would take the hint and share one with him, but Haru only called back, "Is there mackerel?"

Makoto rolled his eyes, not surprised in the least.

"Yeah, I bought some when I thought you might be coming over. It's – oh, you found it."

Haru already had the fish on the counter, heating up the griddle to cook it. Makoto stood there awkwardly for a moment before telling him that he was going to put their backpacks in his room, to which Haru grunted his approval. He picked up the backpacks from where they had been dropped and carried them away, setting them at the foot of his bed. There was a vain hope in the back of his head that they might actually get studying done, but he knew that Haru would probably rather play video games while he was here.

Makoto picked up the container for his contacts and padded to the bathroom to fish them out, an act that, to this day, disgusted him. He hated watching it peel off his eye, and it had been not long ago when he had gotten one folded beneath his eyelid. But, of course, Haru had been there, telling him to stay calm as he tried to get it out.

He slipped on his glasses, sighed at his reflection, and then followed the smell of cooking fish to find Haru. "It smells good," Makoto complimented, knocking the door frame, but his friend didn't even turn, instead choosing to stare down intently at the food.

He frowned, because Haru had been especially quiet on the way home and was being even quieter now. It unnerved him, especially since the odd incident that had occurred between them over the winter; Makoto fondly referred to it as, "The Two Weeks from Hell". A peal of thunder sounded outside, but between the two of them, it was unnaturally silent. There was difference between the quietness that had settled in the air at the moment and the normal comfortable one.

"Hey, Haru," Makoto started, pausing because did he _really _want to open this door? "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Haru replied, but there had been a hesitance there, a small lurch before the answer left his mouth. Makoto walked over to stand beside him, leaning back against the counter for lack of anything better to do. Haru flipped the mackerel gently, practiced, and Makoto watched this movement that he had seen hundreds of times before. He and Haru had been together so long, constructed their own little world, and he wondered what it would take to shatter it.

_Tell him tell him tell –_

"Makoto," Haru said, and he found his friend staring right at him, and there was something in his eyes that even Makoto didn't recognize. It frightened him, not knowing what this look meant, but he was surprised to find that he didn't mind it either, nor did he mind the heat that curled through his stomach.

"Yeah?" Makoto said, and when Haru didn't say anything, he continued, "Haru, you know-"

And suddenly he could barely see Haru's face in front of his own as the room descended into darkness, the electronics in the house all making a soft noise of dying as they shut down.

"Damn," Makoto cursed, fumbling to get the drawer open to find a flashlight. "This happened yesterday, too. I'll have to reset everything before my parents get home, _again._"

"The mackerel was just about done anyway," Haru stated, and because they are in the safety of the dark, Makoto rolls his eyes. His fingers hit upon cold metal, and he flicks on the light, illuminating Haru's face. The boy flinches, and Makoto yelps, "Sorry!" before pointing it down at the fish.

"Do you want to get that?" he asked, and Haru only nods before flipping the food onto waiting plates with the guidance of Makoto's flashlight. Haru sits down and waits, chin propped in his hand, as Makoto bangs around the kitchen trying to find candles. He only manages to find three stubs, deformed from being previously lit, but he decides that they'll do.

They sit in silence, Haru eating and Makoto picking; for some reason, his stomach is roiling as if he were being sent to the front of the class to give a presentation. He can feel Haru's eyes on him as he pushes the plate away, uninterested.

Makoto gives his friend a small smile before watching one of the candles flicker, the flame jerking around as it melted down the wax. He thinks that the setting would almost be romantic if there hadn't been thunder booming outside and he didn't feel like he was about to have a heart attack. The combination of the storm and the weird tension around his friend left him sweating, throat tight with some silent anxiety that he couldn't name.

"We should work on English," Makoto suggested half-heartedly, and Haru gives him a look of revulsion before picking up the dishes. He watches Haru wrap up the fish that he left un-eaten without even a comment, and Makoto stands after blowing out the candles, bringing the flashlight with him.

"Let's just study until the lights come back on," he pressed gently. "It won't be so bad. Besides, we get better marks when we study together."

"I guess," Haru sighed, and Makoto only smiles at him before leading them to his room, wobbling the beam of light across the floor playfully before he goes tripping over one of the twin's toys. He hears Haru snort behind him, and Makoto casts a sheepish grin over his shoulder. Makoto can make out all the shapes in his room, and apparently so can Haru, because he immediately flops onto the bed.

"I have a study light in here somewhere," Makoto muttered, opening his closet. He kicks aside an old school project and leans in to pick up a lamp with a flexible neck that is bending in on itself. Surprisingly, it comes to life when he flips the switch; he assumed the batteries would have been dead.

He turns around and smiles at Haru triumphantly. The boy only leans against the wall, Makoto's pillow propped up behind his back, and for some reason that feels weirdly intimate.

_I could tell him. I could tell him right now._

Makoto sits in front of Haru, sets the lamp down upon the mattress, and says nothing.

* * *

Haru watches Makoto's pencil scritch across the paper, filling the lines with endless words of English that he barely understands. They've been at it for nearly an hour and a half, and the storm has only gotten worse, leaving them sitting in the dark. Haru had stalled as long as he could (borrowed a pair of Makoto's shorts, claimed he was hungry again and eaten an ice pop, doodled in the margins) but it didn't get him out of the studying. He feels frustrated, but Makoto seems to grasp what they're doing, so he lets his mind wander as his friend gets lost in the work. The room is suddenly brightened from the lightening outside, and a boom of thunder rips through the house, nearly shaking it. He can hear Makoto gasp, can see how his shoulders are hunched up in fear.

"It's okay," Haru said, and he sees Makoto shake his head.

"You know that show we watched with Rin the other week?" Makoto asked, and Haru raises his eyebrows.

"The American one? Yeah, what about it?"

"It's still freaking me out," he said, laughing a little, but it's breathless. Haru thinks back to last Friday, when they had all cramped themselves into Rin's dorm and trained their eyes on his laptop. It had been some horror show that a select couple of his friends had been dying to screen, but personally, Haru didn't see the appeal. Nothing about watching zombies rip into people seemed too entertaining, but nevertheless, he had gone, if only to watch Rin and Nagisa pound each other in the arms and yell at the computer.

"It wasn't real, you know that," Haru said, just as another crack of thunder sounds overhead. It's just worst than the last, the storm passing right over them, and Haru feels Makoto's hand land on his bare knee, blunt fingernails digging into the flesh. On reflex, he grabs Makoto's wrist, and the skin is hot to the touch.

"It's okay," he said again, and their eyes meet, Makoto's green irises cast fever bright in the lamp light beneath them. Haru tightens his fingers around the boy's wrist and presses Makoto's hand down harder against his knee, just to feel the pressure. He doesn't know why he does it.

"It's okay," he repeated for the third time, and he doesn't know why he does this either. Haru feels like he's outside of himself, like it's someone else who runs his hand up Makoto's tan arm to rest against his shoulder. Haru leans in, crinkling the homework papers under his crossed legs as he brings his torso closer to Makoto's. His friend's breath smells sweet from crunching on the flavored ice, and it's hot when it fans across Haru's face; it almost makes him dizzy.

Makoto makes a strangled noise, as if he's trying to say something but it doesn't quite make it out. This tiny sound is what jerks Haru from the daze he had been lulled into, because he realizes just how close their faces are, and knows that he's toed the line. If he pulls back now, it would be too hard to explain himself out of. That leaves one option, so he surges forward, pressing their lips together messily, made clumsy by his sudden panic.

Their teeth clack, and he thinks he's made a dire mistake in doing this. But he feels Makoto's hand grip the nape of his neck, and Haru can almost feel his fingers trembling - with what? Anxiety? Desire? He's not sure, but then Makoto is tilting his face and suddenly their kiss is much more comfortable, if not slightly awkward.

Unsure, Haru touches his tongue hesitantly to Makoto's, and is surprised to find that it's pleasant rather than disgusting. Not that he ever once thought that Makoto was disgusting, but rather because the act of kissing had always been muttered about with disdain from his male peers. They said it was something you just "had to do", like it was a necessary but painful step to getting to what they really wanted. Haru had always made it a point to ignore their more vulgar discussions, but he could only block out so much.

He realized that either the other boys were just very, very stupid or had been doing it completely wrong. Maybe both.

Because kissing Makoto was warm, and intense, and decidedly wet. His fingers curled into Haru's hair, nails pressing against his scalp, with one hand still on his knee. And while their noses bumped and it was hard to figure out how to breathe without breaking apart, Haru understood that he could kiss Makoto for hours. He didn't want to stop, not even to draw in air or wipe his mouth.

But all good things must come to an end (or so it goes) and he realizes that this is true when Makoto pulls away, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. They stare at each other, breathing hard. Haru's mouth is still slick from Makoto's kisses. In the dim lamplight, Makoto's normally sleepy eyes come across as downright sinful; Haru didn't know his best friend could look that way.

And then the hand that is still on his knee slides up just a little bit higher, under the loose shorts and onto the warm skin of his thigh. The sight of Makoto's hand disappearing beneath the fabric stirs something unnamable, and Haru grips his wide forearm tightly, as if holding on for dear life.

"Haru," Makoto started, his voice so low, vibrating in his throat, and it sounds more like a plea than anything.

He thinks, _now._

To his credit, Haru does open his mouth, though he's not sure what to say. Anything would be better than the stunted silence between them, stuck in the middle of this odd tightrope that he suddenly finds them on.

Suddenly Haru is blinking in the sudden brightness as the house inhales, springing back to the life, lights all flickering on and Makoto's clock blinking wildly. And in the sharp lights of the room, Haru can see just how swollen the other's lips are, hair mussed and face still flushed red. Makoto's hand is still resting on Haru's thigh, and they both glance down before Makoto yanks his arm back as if it's on fire.

They both pointedly ignore the fact that they're painfully hard. It all seems too real, now.

"My parents will be back soon with the twins," Makoto said, and his voice still has that same husky tone. He clears his throat, and Haru clenches the papers up in his hands, collecting them hastily.

"I'll head home," Haru replied, and Makoto does nothing for a second before he touches Haru's hand, effectively stilling his movements. Haru doesn't miss the way that Makoto's fingers are trembling.

"You don't have to," Makoto told him, and Haru watches as a weak smile breaks out on his face and he gives a tired little laugh. "You know, I had this daydream a few weeks ago while we were sitting in English class. I saw us standing by the beach, under the look-out, and the sun was setting and I just told you that I liked you right then and there. Like in one of those romance movies my mom watches. You told me to stop being embarrassing. But I couldn't help but tell you."

"That sounds like me," Haru said, and he can't help but wince when his voice breaks. He wonders if his face conveys how flustered he feels (he hopes not). In actuality, his brain snatched out those words, _"I liked you," _and they are clicking around over and over again in his mind. Haru wonders when this started, how, and most importantly, _why_. He has been hoping so hard for something that he never assumed would happen, and now that it has - he feels utter relief crash into him. Relief, and happiness.

Because wasn't it always meant to be this way?

There is a complete sense of calm in his movement as he turns his hand over and laces his fingers between Makoto's. They fit together as seamlessly as they always have. Not everything has changed, and this is what grounds Haru, roots him in the knowledge that Makoto is Makoto and that will never falter.

"This is good for me," Haru said, feeling his own mouth curve upward into a smile.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he sighed. And though it embarrasses him, he continued, "I only ever think of you. I mean – you're the only one it could be."

_Lame._

"Ah – Haru!" Makoto exclaimed, and Haru watches as his face does the thing where his smile stretches so wide that his eyes crinkle, and it's this stupid _thing _that makes him absolutely certain that he loves this guy. Haru turns his head away, only because he is terrified that he might overflow any moment with some foreign emotion. His chest feels like it is swelling, and he thinks, _I could get used to this._

Makoto looks like he wants to say something else, but they both turn at the sound of the front door opening downstairs, and then Ran is hollering for both Makoto and Haruka to come and see her art project. Being the ever-dutiful older sibling, Makoto gets up, still hand-in-hand with Haru, and he smiles down at him.

"I always thought my confession would be fancier," Makoto admitted.

"Too much effort," Haru said. "You're fine as you are, Makoto."

And his heart thuds almost painfully when Makoto says, "You too, Haru."

* * *

That night, when the rain is tapping the roof and the wind is howling, Makoto and Haruka huddle close together as they did when they were still children, legs tangled and hands clasping in the dark.

* * *

**And there it is. This is the first fanfic I've written in a while, yeesh. I hope my rustiness isn't too obvious. I originally planned for this to be a huge one-shot, but the pace didn't fit, sooo next chapter will be where the M-rated content shows itself. **

**I hope you guys enjoyed this! Please feel free to review with your thoughts. You can also message me here or drop me a line on Tumblr (my URL is on my profile) with any comments, or tips for the next chapter.**

**Till next time!**


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